


The Death of Baron Sengir

by Ihsan997



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 19:15:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihsan997/pseuds/Ihsan997
Summary: Baron Sengir marched with his army through a dwarven portal...where did they end up?





	1. Part 1

“The most glorious attack is that which the defender doesn’t deserve.”

The princess of still hearts, neither living nor dead, flexed her metallic limbs, flashing a wide, lipless grin as the dimensional gate crackled with energy. It was of crude construction - a simple runed circle, lacking the jagged edges and asymmetrical embellishments she would have liked - but considering the pressure that had so unfairly been exerted on their world, it would perform its function. She’d only assigned her engineers to raise and perfect it a few decades prior; there wasn’t much time to beautify it in her own fashion.

One of her many winged demons, the flying masses of bone and steel that reborn Yawgmoth had gifted to her, landed and perched on a rock of pure titanium near her vantage point. “Mistress, is it time?” it asked in its hollow voice.

To impress her own nervous excitement upon her minions was almost as pleasant as exacting punishment on the unwitting. “Soon,” she rasped in reply, clenching one of her fists and releasing.

All around her, the blast furnaces of the fourth sphere burned lightly, exuding only enough heat to illuminate the scrap-laden ground beneath them, the pipe-laden ceiling high above them and the rough outlines of her personal army. Warriors, beast machines, the half-completed and all sorts of mechanical ghasts and geists waited in a wide circle around the active way gate, filling the carbon-rich air with the rumbling of their engines, or, in the case of the lower ranks, lungs. Hers was a humble force compared to the other private retinues granted to her peers on Old Phyrexia…but she’d artificially swell her ranks soon enough.

Unable to stand the suspense any longer, one of her ranks of iron and sinew knights knelt in front of her, holding his scythe up high in demonstration of the fact that her favors never went unappreciated. “Mistress, the energy within the gate is increasing…is it time?” the former human who still retained a biological larynx asked.

A thin mouth opened into a wider smile as her perfect teeth parted, revealing a tongueless mouth. “Soon!” she replied once more, reveling in the way the ranks of her knights clattered and clanked in anticipation. Her soldiers hadn’t fought a true battle since the previous crisis; she pitied their deprivation of violence like a true shepherdess of her flock.

The hum of the gate increased in volume, and her more sentient soldiers increased their excited cacophony in kind. The figures of the fools attempting to pass from the other side of the gate gradually became visible, and even she, difficult as one her age was to impress, felt the boiling oil in her husk’s veins pump even faster. Her troops spread out far and wide across the spherical landscape, holding back any bypassing laborers and errant constructs lest they interfere in what was the crowning achievement of so much preparation.

Tingling like one cursed by flesh, she felt her frontal lobe pulling toward her the humble shadow that was quickly becoming her favorite minion. Wide and shambling yet as silent as the fetid darkness, one of Old Phyrexia’s diligent monitors materialized, pulled back into their plane by her peculiar, reaching magic.

His thick but pleasant voice sang music to her ears, even if he leaned forward such that the rest of her minions couldn’t hear him. “Praetor Priscilla…the targets are in the process of walking across planes now,” said Scion. “Their teleportation should be complete within moments; they’re traveling much faster than I’d anticipated, based on their numbers.”

Ever benevolent, Priscilla reached forward with one of her several hands and cupped the bottom of his skeletal snout like she would with an affectionate pet. Cruelty was best saved for lesser species; unlike many of her peers, she understood that mercy toward her minions was beneficial in the long run.

“Then that simply means that our wait is over. Stay with me; you’ve earned the right to watch,” she told the monitor, reveling in the benign envy with which a few of her other minions gazed upon Scion.

“I’m most grateful, mistress,” the broad monitor replied as he turned around and stood closer.

His arrival wasn’t a moment too soon; the energy of their intersectional way gate lit up the sphere even more than the blast furnaces and factories over the horizon, heralding the fruition of decades of scheming. What a pity that said fruition wasn’t likely to last more than a few minutes, if her minions had properly prepared.

Rather than appearing one by one, the unsuspecting army slowly materialized at once, particle by particle. Their entire forms were visible before their consciousness had fully jumped into Old Phyrexia, and it was only Priscilla’s sheer power of will that prevented her ecstatic minions from falling upon their prey too early. The oblivious captives were quite the Gothic lot: as the people of their plane termed themselves, they were comprised mostly of vampires in the center of their ranks, flanked by werewolves on the outside alongside a measure of living and undead human fodder. The way gate collapsed before the enemy army even realized that their teleportation had completed, leaving the mass of medieval militiamen in the center of an empty space normally used as a training ground by Priscilla’s minions.

Their vampiric prey were encircled, disoriented, unprepared and entirely unaware of what was about to happen to them. To see her hundreds of minions amassed in their irregular, asymmetrical formations surrounding a foe who had no idea where they were was like a symphony, it was beautiful, it was exhilarating to look at and the prey hadn’t even reacted yet.

The braying and screeching of her minions reached a crescendo just as the materialized medieval militia finally regained its senses. They were truly a disgusting, almost offensive sight to behold - all flesh and skin and biological functions, grasping on to primitive technology and crude magic that probably couldn’t even raise a corpse without a natural soul to transplant into it. If she had a nose, she would have pinched it right around then. Upon realization of their surroundings, the vampires in the center of the enemy formation all blinked and winced at the noise and the heat, their fleshy bodies relying on ancient muscle power, mere kinetic energy, as if their pitiful blades would stand against the glory of arcane magitech. Like fallen nobility, the sight of unexpected terrain and hundreds of hostile soldiers sapped the smug confidence from their faces, leading to the gnashing of fangs and the pumping of blood as the weaklings tried to communicate.

The helplessness of the werewolves was even worse, their barking and snarling reminiscent of more base creatures that couldn’t even develop tools. Priscilla’s negators crackled their innate electromagnetic energy in response, causing the hairy beasts to crouch and back up superstitiously. The humans that were still alive shrieked and lost their morale, knocking into the decomposed, unsupported bodies of the almost laughable excuses for undead canon fodder.

And in the center of it all was the target that had caused Priscilla to hunger for so long. Scion had watched the vampire lord closely, knowing that the bloodsucker was barely familiar even with black magic and would have no idea that his preparations to lead an army through the unknown portal had been watched and even subtly pushed the entire time. Baron Sengir stood tall, the count’s arrogance pushing him to bravery beyond that of the followers he’d raised, refusing to give ground in the face of insurmountable odds he’d only had a few seconds to inspect. Even when Priscilla’s minions had fun taunting his own, he refused to flinch or even react much aside from an ever deepening scowl sent in her direction; for her immediate invasion of his mind for the purpose of leeching the leech obviously informed him of who was in control.

As if he knew that negotiation was out of the question even when Priscilla raised one of her many hands to keep her minions at bay, Sengir merely clenched one of his own two fists angrily, standing in front whom Scion had identified as the count’s daughter and next to a dark shade known as is coerced bodyguard. “Whoever you think you are: have my assurance that it matters not,” the vampire lord said, despite having no way of knowing that she’d understand his speech. “For I am Baron Sengir, master of the plane of Ulgrotha, and I’ve come to conquer whatever is on the other side of the portal.” Though his purely human minions continued to cower, the vampires and werewolves appeared at least partially uplifted by his pointless defiance, and Priscilla exhaled carbon exhaust in delight.

Rather than answering him directly, she held out an open palm to the enemy army. From the hill of discarded test subjects which her war machines had erected for her, she was able to see what had to be the two-thousand strong army of vampires, all of them forming a circle around their lord. Though their number was great and Priscilla knew her limits, she’d also picked her victim wisely; for vampires relied almost entirely on the power of the blood of their veins, and blood was an antiquated, inefficient power source.

Focusing what was a very simple form of black magic for her, she attacked their blood cells, feeling a bit squeamish herself as the images of millions of the primitive objects flowed through her mind. She could hear the vampiric heartbeats in her ears, and almost feel every single individual among them as she heated their blood with a simple internal hum of her chassis in tandem with the focus of her mind. The vampires screamed like bats, and a good many of them dropped their unadvanced swords and axes, hugging themselves as their cold bodies proved that unaugmented undead constituted little more than cold lumps of nucleotides. Their over reliance on only one energy source crippled them so badly that few of them took to the skies before Priscilla’s demons dove from the air and descended upon them.

Her melodious laughter echoed across the sphere as her knights crashed into waves of werewolves and rotting, undead humans. The sharp, pointy metal bodies of her infantry were solid save the glistening oil inside, and the claws of the werewolves did very little other than slow them down. Scythes dipped up and down as her knights cut through the furry lumps and walking corpses like farmers harvesting corn. The battle was one-sided but slow, just how she liked it, and she even spun around in a few circles with her hands in the air as she cackled into the smog-filled eternal night, even placing a finger on Scion’s head and slapping him so hard that he spun around like a child’s top with her irrespective of his own desire. Any attempts at spell casting by Sengir’s daughter or the few vampires who’d retained their wits were quickly put down by Priscilla’s negators, while her debilitators and patchwork minions wasted no time in chasing down any stragglers or fleeing cowards. Her massive, beastly war machines weren’t denied either, and they trampled over droves of enemy soldiers like a final cleanup crew on the blood-stained scrap metal field.

So unfair was it that the battle was over quickly, decades of preparation for annihilation of a formidable foe over in the blink of an eye. All but Baron Sengir and his inner circle stood at the center, fighting formidably and cutting down ranks of Priscilla’s lesser minions in a valiant show of idiocy. Scion had spied on them well, however; she knew the quickest way to end that single spot of resistance.

“Bring me his left hand,” she ordered one of her debilitators, speaking at a normal volume but knowing that her minion would hear her all the way from the middle of the skirmish.

Without even answering, the gangly construct that had once been a human long ago leapt into the air, grabbing onto the feet of one of her demons. The demon wavered but continued flying, knowing that its comrade wouldn’t have committed such an act without a reason. Once its circular pattern brought it above the center of the diminishing battle, the debilitator let go and dropped to the ground, slicing Sengir’s left hand off of his arm with a single rake if its claws. The vampire lord reacted in kind, lobbing off one of the debilitator’s arms and a mass of its tendrils with his sword, but the deed was done; the shade standing next to the vampire lord stopped fighting.

“Ihsan!” Baron Sengir yelled at the shade. “Stop that creature!”

In the center of a vicious conflict, the shade of a fallen warrior merely dropped its hands aplomb at its sides. The one armed debilitator ran back to Priscilla, ignoring the wounds inflicted upon it by the few remaining werewolves as it ran. Not until Priscilla tore Sengir’s severed hand to pieces and wore his signet ring did the shade finally react by slowly turning its head toward its former master.

“No,” Ihsan’s shade replied, his voice echoing with dark magic as his two red eyes darted between the vampire lord that had bound him and the new bearer of the signet ring that was his proverbial leash.

So ecstatic that her perfect teeth clattered, Priscilla invaded the mind of Sengir and his daughter Irini, in addition to their former enslaved apparition, so that they could all partake in the melodrama as it unfolded. “Do as you wish with the two of them,” Priscilla told the shade, though her words were heard by them all telepathically. “For you will find that not all mistresses and masters are callous.”

Ihsan didn’t need a second explanation. In a single, fluid movement, he swung back toward Irini, the insane adopted daughter of Sengir whom Scion had described as enraged by Ihsan’s sanity, and cleaved her in two pieces with his axe. The cut was so smooth that she didn’t even have time to scream before falling, splattering leeched blood all over Sengir’s fine clothing.

Anger roiled in Sengir’s mind and clouded his vision, leaving him unaware of the fact that no longer were Priscilla’s minions attacking him. His vampiric power allowed him to leap high into the air, slamming into the ground and swiping his sword against Ihsan’s shield hard enough to create a shockwave in the ground but not hard enough to break the black magic that he’d fashioned himself. “I made you!” he growled, the cool and calculating demeanor that Scion had described swiftly replaced by arrogant rage.

In his mad assault, he forgot that he’d empowered his (now former) bodyguard for a reason, and without the power of the signet ring or his left hand, Sengir was unable to stop the counterattack. Ihsan chopped off Sengir’s entire right arm, kicking him to the ground and chopping his feet off for good measure. So enthralled was Priscilla by the scene that she crawled closer to the scene, her minions parting like a sentient sea save Scion who tried to place himself between her and the nearly ended battle. Unable to even stand, Sengir spat angrily at Ihsan even as the shade unquestioningly walked away at the wave of Priscilla’s hand.

“Fools! I’m immortal!” the vampire count hissed, recalcitrant to the very end. “I’ll only come back once you strike me down!”

“Who said you’ll be struck down today?” Priscilla said, scrawling her words into his brain since he wouldn’t be able to understand the Phyrexian language. “Do you think we’d reroute your precious dwarven portal to our plane without doing our homework first?”

As if his anger had consumed him, Sengir was no longer listening to reason. “I’ve been granted the power of eternal life! My body here will disintegrate, and I’ll rise again elsewhere to exact my revenge-“

“Death and rebirth is an ordeal you’ll not know,” Priscilla said, interrupting him roughly when she found that she wasn’t lucky enough to revel in a begging victim. “You should be thanking me…rather than running around waving an extension of your manhood and enslaving villagers, you’ll have the opportunity to become a part of our plane’s war machine. Nothing goes to waste in Phyrexia…nothing. I’ve already filed the order for you to be skinned, flayed and transformed into a sentient blood bag for our completion specialists…you’ll forever function as a donor for our mortal minions during the arduous process of their transformation from biological to mechanical…blood transfusion tends to ease the process for them.”

By probing his mind, she could tell that he didn’t believe her. “You’ll see! I’ll exact upon you a revenge unlike any the planes have ever-“

“You, shade,” she said to Ihsan, who seemed overwhelmed after having finally achieved the revenge that Scion had discovered he’d desired. “Cut his tongue out, please.”

“Yes…my new mistress.”

“Praetor Priscilla…I’m one of the newly anointed of reborn Yawgmoth, tasked with raising enough troops to scout suitable planes for our expansion, and a respected figure on this plane, Phyrexia, to which we rerouted the portal you marched through. And that makes you a humble servant of Yawgmoth as well.”

“Yes, mistress Priscilla,” Ihsan replied to Priscilla’s delight as he followed her order and then followed several of her demons which carried the dismembered but not dead Baron Sengir off to a completion factory over the horizon.

The few stragglers that were left were fleeing from the gunfire of her reapers over the horizon, leaving her steam beasts to perform the heavy lifting of salvaging the fallen enemies and severed body parts for recycling. The carnage had ended far too soon, but she felt satisfied knowing that her demons would soon inform those on the seventh sphere that she’d destroyed the conquered of an entire plane in a matter of minutes, as well as scouted the entirety of said plain for expansion via the use of a single monitor. It was, altogether, a good five minutes.

Noticing the jealous spike that Scion felt at the sight of her warm reception of the shade who’d cut down many of her minions, Priscilla turned back toward her proverbial eyes and ears, reaching up and patting him on the head.

“Fear not, Scion; for I’m not one who ever forgets loyalty.”

“There is no doubt, mistress.”

“You spent so many years studying the plane of Ulgrotha, and your work will enable our coming invasion so that Phyrexia may extend its reach to a natural plane. Thus, it is only befitting that you be granted the task of reaching into a previously untouched plane.”

“If there is honor in our plane, Praetor Priscilla, you’ve granted it to me now,” Scion replied.

She grinned, both at his diligence and at her own excessive giddiness over the climax that day. “So much focus has been devoted to Zendikar by planeswalkers…their energies are all focused on a single task. Innistrad, with its darkness and corruption, is perfect for scouting…whether my fellow planeswalkers or the Eldrazi succeed, Old Phyrexia will eventually be there to wipe out the survivors.” She pet him again, letting the upright combination of armor and skeleton to nuzzle her hand. “And I grant you the honor of being the first to watch over a small project I’ve seeded there.”

Kneeling before her, Scion showed even more gratitude than usual. “Words cannot express, mistress,” he said in a voice as soft as his usual raspiness would allow.

“Go now,” she commanded while pointing back toward her personal laboratory on the small swathe of the sphere that had been allotted to her. “The means of your walking across planes are in place…and enjoy your time.”

Wordlessly, he turned and walked toward the laboratory in the tower off in the distance, leaving her in the company of her negators. She watched him until he disappeared at the faraway tower, savoring the aftermath of her chaos for as long as she could. She’d finally had her first taste of success in her short time as a praetor that day…and the enthusiasm she and her underlings had gained would push her to continue her dual preparations for years to come.

“Soon,” she cackled to herself.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Phyrexia is coming back...

Necronus swiveled around on his central pivot, his mechanical parts functioning sluggishly as his mind comfortably woke from his hours of meditation. So little of him was biological now - even his dendrites and the neurons of his brain had been replaced by wires and plastic tubing, transferring his thought process into artificial media - but even his metal apparatuses swung around lazily as he interrogated each of his assistants gathered around him in his circular, wire-filled office.

“And the witch engines have been outfitted with those strange werewolf pelts we received?” he asked a thin, cloaked adviser with telescopes for eye stalks.

“Yes, master, and they’ll look fabulous while picking apart the bodies of pleading enemies.”

“Excellent. Ensure that they’re practicing their drills on the first sphere, for a more realistic taste of alien terrain. And you there,” Necronus said while pointing toward a hunchback scientist walking on tails instead of feet. “That…universal blood donor that we received. Have you experienced trouble keeping it alive? Or undead, I suppose?”

The hunchback scientist rubbed the back of its metal hands nervously. “Only in the beginning, master; one of our analysts nearly lost the vampire count at first, and of course, I had that attendant recycled into a coat rack.”

“Good initiative. And I want that coat rack. And coats that can fit my chassis.”

“Of course, master. And while my colleagues handled that process, I saw to it that the vampire count’s vital signs were stabilized; he should serve as the blood donor for our completion candidates indefinitely.”

“It’s rare for all the news to be so good…and hard to imagine, after suffering such a catastrophe as our plane did. And…” Necronus paused, his good mood slightly dampened by the way one of his eyeless scientists in the back of the group continued fidgeted. “You obviously have something to say, so you’d best say it now.”

“Praetor Priscilla has entered the premises and is already waiting outside the outer rim of the chamber,” the mass of sentient copper and tin replied nervously.

His oscillating lenses widening like saucers, Necronus found his mind racing as his plans for that planetary rotation cycle were thrown into disarray. “I should have known…it isn’t like her to share technology without visiting to check the results,” he murmured to himself before leaning upward to view the various black and white television screens he used to observe his factories. Fortunately, the only tasks in need of supervision at the moment didn’t necessarily require the lenses of an expert, and he immediately directed a number of his underlings to an his control stations.

“Alright, everybody knows their instructions now. You two,” he said while pointing to a spot in front of him so a pair of laborers, their strength derived from both hydraulic and muscle power, came to heel. “Bring out my tank treads from the outer rim and wheel them straight in here. The others will unscrew my pivot.”

Both laborers wordlessly scurried away while a few of his smaller attendants unfastened the screws that held his massive body onto his central perch. Reaching up to the numerous steel bars on the ceiling crowded by pipes and tubes and cables, Necronus lifted his great metallic weight and lifted himself up like a simian once he’d been unscrewed, brachiating toward the tank treads and lowering himself down so his laborers could screw his legless body onto the mobile tracks.

Once he was movable, he drove out into the long corridor of black steel and crackling cables encircling his command center and, through a pair of double doors automatically opened by the still-sentient corpses of Sengir vampires integrated into the mechanics, he found himself in the quadrant of his administrative center used for guest reception. His fellow praetor was waiting for him among numerous television screens displaying live feeds transmitted by spies and sleepers all over the multiverse, tended to by partially completed Ulgrothan humans offering his guest various forms of polish and chemical treatment.

Few sensations could cause the old, cold manufactured known as Necronus to truly feel anymore. For so many millennia he’d replaced his once human body with artificial parts bit by bit, leaving himself nearly as calculating and objective as the undead-robotic constructs he spent so much time perfecting and designing. But Priscilla was one of the few beings that caused the boiling oil in his uranium circulatory system to cool off in a soothing fashion, making Necronus truly feel again.

“Praetor,” he said as he approached, bowing his head humbly so as to maintain professional distance.

“Praetor,” she replied, offering one of her comparatively dainty hands up to his. Her occasionally irreverent behavior was a frivolous as it was alluring, and he found himself checking to see if one of their peers were spying on them before pretending to peck her on the hand with his lipless metal mouth. “I trust that your broodlings have put my recent gifts to good use?”

Positively tickled by her unprofessional language, he found himself tolerating what he’d berate his other youngers for. “Yes, my…underlings have exploited the shared tech to its fullest extent. The vampires in particular are quite useful as catalysts for the completion of mortal initiates. I am, once again, in your debt.”

“You know I don’t deal in debt; consider it an expression of admiration for true talent. Your work has inspired so many of us to continue even after the crisis of our plane.”

“You are too kind,” he replied as they paused for a moment to observe a rather harrowing scene on the Kamigawa screen whereby the sleeper agent transmitting the feed was almost exposed in the middle of a busy market.

She took the initiative, during their silence, to reveal more of the ideas borne of a more youthful mind. “I expect there to be more of such vampires in the coming decades…very soon, I have a pet project that’s more…aggressive, so to speak,” she said while the two of them continued to observe the various screens.

“I was under the impression that every vampire on the plane of Ulgrotha marched through, due to your excellent scheming.”

“That they did, and trust me when I say that I’ll focus part of my attention on direct, offensive invasion of that crumbling plane shortly. I also planned on inviting others as a sign of goodwill - but not before I informed you today, of course. You have dibs in case you’d prefer that the involvement of others be limited.”

“Dibs?” he asked, watching her via his peripheral vision until he understood her informal speech. “Ah, yes. It’s not my place to demand restrictions on a benefactor, especially when the occupation of such an ignored, forgotten plane as Ulgrotha should prove uncontroversial. In which case, your initial comment referred to another plane.”

“Indeed it does, and to a plane with both vampires as well as numerous mortal humans ripe for the picking. It’s a plane that is beset by civil and social strife, though its people are so disorganized that they can’t even mount a proper civil war.”

The thin line between suspicion and experienced intuition was breached, and the gears in Necronus’ head clicked and whirred. “Priscilla…you want to invade Innistrad?”

Her lipless grin widened due to the more bendable material that comprised her face. “Their church has fallen from grace in the eyes of the people, and the bulk of the planeswalkers have turned their attention to Zendikar to combat the Eldrazi. The time is ripe to slowly corrupt Innistrad from within.”

Necronus paused, wholly unconvinced of her plan but not wanting to appear flippant. “We’ve built what we have now because the multiverse believes that Yawgmoth died. Everything we’ve pieced back together and reconstructed was possible because the peoples of all the worlds think that we no longer exist. Old Phyrexia will rise again, eventually…but to say we currently have the power to face down either the Eldrazi or the planeswalkers directly is a stretch.”

“And after the two sides have thoroughly wreaked havoc upon each other, leaving only one battered and unprepared survivor?”

Her tone of voice was one of self-assurance and quiet confidence; knowing her, she’d follow through on her plan whether he asked for more of the spoils to continue his manufacturing activities or not. And knowing that, Necronus knew not to waste his smoky breath trying to talk her out of the plan.

“New Phyrexia took Mirrodin by learning from our mistakes…decentralized power has made them such a force that the multiverse doesn’t even bother challenging their dominion over that plane,” he said, cautiously tempering his words well. “We want neither their infighting, nor their insolence toward us given their independence…but I suppose their success can serve as a model.”

Working it like a true manipulator, Priscilla inched closer to him, leaning against his larger frame like a mortal housecat subtly requesting more food. “If I find that this job requires two brains, will I find these doors open?” she asked.

“For such a risky plan, only for you,” he replied, trying not to wonder how his peers would have reacted to such a foolhardy idea. “Until you mention it again, consider your secret held.”

“It is you who are simply too kind, praetor,” she said, lowering herself as if to courtsy before stepping back so they could see each other. “And if anyone asks, this was merely a visit to see that you received the delivery I sent you…and to confer before the demonstration of your new rail guns on the second sphere. I assume that I should leave soon if I want to arrive on time?”

“Within the hour, praetor,” he replied as he backed up, sensing that their brief meeting had come to an end. He nodded to both his negators and hers so that the door would be opened for her. “It’s always a pleasure.”

As she crawled out toward the door, she pivoted her upper body around to glance at him one last time, reminding him of her impeccable timing. “It was all mine, Necronus,” she replied, granting him the sound of his name from her mouth only a single time as she walked outside with her attendants.

He waited until she was long gone as he watched the public television screens for a little while longer. Perhaps due to his obviously pensive demeanor when he so rarely displayed emotion at all, his minions intelligently hung back, standing at the ready in case he called them but otherwise not approaching.

With a carbon dioxide sigh, Necronus turned and decided to drive laps around the four quadrants of his administrative center, watching the smokestacks of his factories through the massive windows. “The rashness of youth,” he chuckled to himself as he drove.

A/N: thank you so much for reading! For those wondering: none of the Phyrexians mentioned here are canon except for Yawgmoth; everyone else are original characters of mine. As hinted, this does lead into a series of MtG short stories I’ll eventually post, though I don’t enjoy putting exact deadlines on myself. I’ll post progress updates and my poor attempt at artwork on my Deviant Art account, though one promise that I will make is that I won’t start posting a multi-chapter story until the whole thing is finished.


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